I enjoy the holiday season as much as anyone else. And I have as many mixed memories as most do of holidays past. It seems there’s a mix of good, bad, and ugly.
I think I might have been in sixth grade the year of the ping pong debacle. It was Christmas Day and we were hosting my grandmother, my uncle, and our aunt Agnes. My brother would have been in tenth grade. My grandmother was in her early 80’s but was never very ambulatory due to arthritis. Agnes was of indeterminate age due to (add a knowing nod and wink) her relationship with “the drink.” In reality she was only about 70, but was an old 70. She was a small, slight woman with bird-like facial features…sharp and bright. And she carried a cane.
Long story short…I was playing ping pong in the basement with my uncle. My uncle Bill was a fabulous man, good and kind, but he was not blessed with coordination. He bent down to retrieve the ball and, upon standing, rammed his head into 4×4 post. Head injuries bleed…a lot. I ran to the utility sink and wet a washcloth I found on top of the dryer. I slapped it on his head and ran up the stairs to tell my mother.
My mother had to take him to the hospital. My brother and I were left in charge of nana and aunt Agnes. Agnes was a tad confused about what was happening and didn’t like that my uncle was leaving. As my brother restrained Agnes, she began hitting him with her cane. My brother picked Agnes up and carried her back to her seat. We settled her down with a generous helping of “enriched” egg nog.
Meanwhile, at the emergency room, my mother was giving my uncle’s info to the triage nurse. The nurse’s mouth dropped open as she said to my mother, “his name is Kringle? Are you kidding?” My mother explained that his name was Pringle and the nurse looked relieved.
It turned out okay though my uncle received stitches and had a concussion. Merry Christmas.
A few decades later I began a tradition of holiday cookie parties for my fellow teachers in the English department. In my small carriage-house apartment, thirteen of us squeezed around the decorated tree and munched cookies and chocolates along with coffee, cocoa, and soda. A blissful hour or so after school to relax. I’d always done quite a bit of baking around the holidays.
As my residences grew in size, so did the parties. They began to include platters of various sizes…crackers and cheese, veggies and dip, and shrimp. At first I made them myself but quickly learned to order them. There were still cookies, fudge, and chocolates. I’d invested in a coffee urn at Kmart. That was a smart purchase.
I loved watching everyone have fun though I never had a chance to have much fun. It was my gift to them and the reward was their company and enjoyment. No sooner were people arriving and I’d turn around to find they’d all gone home. But there were always a few kind stragglers who would hang around and help clean up.
One of the best pre-party preps was the Sunday afternoon before the party when my friend Tracy would come over and we’d decorate the cut cookies I’d already baked. Neither of us was particularly creative nor were we skilled decorators. We were just goofy people who had fun and lots of laughs while inexpertly decorating cookies. Tracy’s gone now, almost eight years. I miss her a great deal, especially during this time of year.
On a funny note, over the years I discovered that people did indeed snoop through my stuff…bathroom medicine cabinet, crawl spaces, dresser drawers, etc. Determined to provide a meaningful experience, I purchased some condoms and stocked the medicine cabinet. In one crawl space, I tied a stuffed elf to the light cord by its neck and attached a sign that read, “I’m on the naughty list.” In various dresser drawers I left notes. Never had that problem again!
Oh, there was also a year when one of my friends changed the Christmas music I was playing because she didn’t like it.
The last gathering was at least ten years ago. It got to be too much. The last party had upwards of fifty people. People came and went so there was always room. I do miss it, though.
Stories Are For Eternity 